


ponder the hearts of men

by greymahariel (acceptnosubstitutes)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Conversations, Gen, Hidden meanings, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 06:19:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6227257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acceptnosubstitutes/pseuds/greymahariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas lifted his head. Something about the way he stared raised Mahariel’s hackles.</p><p>“I require your expertise in regards to the death of Lavellan.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	ponder the hearts of men

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've been gnawing at for a while, a post-Trespasser visit and conversation with my Mahariel's super duper most favorite person ever /no sarcasm whatsoever, really
> 
> I would really love to do a kind of coda for this, just because I really like what I came up with as for the logic behind why they act, say and do the things that occur over the course of this short one-shot.
> 
> Perhaps later.

Bluish light brought the small clearing into soft focus, just bright enough to read the expression on each other’s faces. If anything, the light only aided Mahariel’s aim. He lifted his bow the few remaining inches it took to leave a sharp arrow, very possibly poisoned, at Solas’ heart.

The other elf raised an eyebrow.

“Is that really necessary?”

In response, Mahariel merely drew back further.

“We’ll see,” he said.

Solas closed his eyes briefly, but moved on.

“I am to take by your response you have...heard, yes?”

He turned away from Mahariel, pacing a ways to his left, hands linked behind his back. Mahariel followed his movement with his eyes, lowering his bow enough it no longer posed an immediate threat yet rested at the ready.

“You hear a lot of things out of Skyhold these days,” Mahariel said. “Lavellan disbanded the Inquisition.”

A quick, brief uptilt of his mouth was Solas’ only response when he paused to face Mahariel fully.

“Seems to have sustained some sort of injury, as well,” Mahariel continued, sharp eyes fixed on the other elf’s reaction.

Solas said nothing, face impassive. But then, that was a reaction of its own. Mahariel tilted his head, but catalogued it away for later introspection.

“Why are you here, Solas?”

Solas sighed, and shifted his gaze from guarded green. Curious.

“I...have a request.”

A beat.  


When Solas didn’t continue, Mahariel frowned.

“I am not entirely sure how to ask,” Solas admitted, slowly, smoothing down the front of his tunic. “This is not a feeling with which I am well acquainted.”

No shit. Mahariel snorted, earning a quick, thin smile. But they let the quiet hang - chirps of crickets and the distant, low humming owls.

Solas lifted his head. Something about the way he stared raised Mahariel’s hackles.

“I require your expertise in regards to the death of Lavellan.”

Another pause. Mahariel watched Solas over the arch of his bow with something approaching impassivity.

Perhaps he’d heard wrong.

Solas gave first, turning his head to the side. His hands again returned behind his back.

“Please,” he added, quiet. Almost as afterthought.

Perhaps not.

Mahariel's hand felt the grip of his bow, wood almost creaking audibly. The fingers of his other hand twitched at bowstring. 

Solas did not turn his head to face him again, but he did give a minute gesture. Only enough to attract Mahariel’s gaze to the other elf’s side, where sickly green light ebbed to life lazily.

Crackled. Sharp, acrid. 

“Do you ever listen to yourself,” Mahariel asked. Noncommittal. Shifted his stance. “Such as when you speak?”

In response, Solas turned, eyes aglow and again it raised the hairs at the nape of his neck.

“If you thought you could kill me, you would have done so already. If, perhaps, you wish to try my patience, you have succeeded.”

Mahariel huffed. Relaxed, but didn’t drop arrow point. Neither did Solas cease glowing green, though his eyes faded to their regular blue.

“Well now,” Mahariel drawled, “there’s the asshole we all know and love.”

Solas sighed.

“Let us cease with these games. Would I not have reason, I would not have come. I still require your response.”

“Should be obvious,” Mahariel told him, “but by all means. Why do you want me to kill Elijah?”

“Boeing.”

The elves shared another face off, starring. Then, from Mahariel - a lazy, fanged smile.

“Elijah.”

“The current climate changes. You must feel this. Even if you do not understand why. How. Our -,” Solas paused, grimaced, and continued, “the future of this world will only grow darker in the coming days.”

He began to pace, hands still clasped behind his back and lit a soft green, a short distance. Slow.

“Lavellan has suffered much. Much of which...of a fault I must admit primary responsibility.”

Mahariel clicked his tongue. “Understatement.”

Solas chuckled. Stopped, and lifted his face to the sky.

“Believe as you will, but I wished none of what has passed upon Lavellan’s shoulders. Would that I could, Lavellan would have died at the Conclave.”

“Yeah,” Mahariel said, stretching the vowels, “you know, asshole Solas. Would that I could, I’d quit meeting you in dark corners of remote wilderness. But beggars, choosers.”

“I deserve your venom. More. But you misunderstand. I would have Lavellan die at the Conclave to spare him.”

Solas turned to face Mahariel fully, hands coming to a rest at his sides. 

The green glow faded.

“Lavellan is a unique creature. Precious. Far more than even you or I have the capacity to imagine. His mind, his heart, his soul - the way of which he cares for every living being, even those who wish him ill. With every fiber of his being.”

“He holds nothing back,” Solas said, “he does not understand how. He shines, precisely because he cares.”

At once, Mahariel understood. He relented his bow grip, bringing the weapon down and fingers going to rub at a temple.

“Lavellan will fight,” Solas continued, “contest my plans to bring down the Veil. He understands little of magic intellectually, but spiritually…”

Solas trailed off, closed his eyes. A faint smile played at the edges of his mouth when he reopened them.

“He understands people will suffer for your bullshit,” Mahariel finished, flatly.

“Yet he will grieve,” Solas said. Soft. “He will grieve to face me. A friend he thought he knew, could rely on. Trust. And this grief, it shall poison him.”

“He has Bull.”

Another ghost of a smile.

“You know not how much comfort I ascribe to this truth. Though highly unconventional, and at times suspect, the Iron Bull’s love for Lavellan is...pure.”

Solas trailed off. A moment of time affected something within him, some inner, bittersweet ache and his eyes softened. 

“But I doubt even his Ben-Hassrath training will serve him in reconstructing Lavellan once this path we are on concludes.”

Of course. Mahariel exhaled a sharp, rough breath.

“Once he kills you.”

Solas lifted his head, a bare acknowledgement.

“I wish to spare him,” he said, finished, simply.

For a moment, silence stretched. One long moment. Then Mahariel inhaled, long and slow, and breathed out again with a sudden shudder of his shoulders.

The movement caught Solas’ attention who watched, bewildered, as Theron Mahariel, ex-warden commander and victor of the fifth blight, simply laughed. 

Harsh. Grating. 

Derisive. 

“You fucking,” Mahariel paused, laughter bubbling up again. Shook his head helplessly, “You fucking asshole.”

And then he stopped laughing.

Stalked forward, matter of fact, Solas’ eyes widening when fingers fisted in the front of his tunic and yanked him closer.

Green narrowed at him, depths of anger writhing within unparalleled.

“See here,” Mahariel hissed between grit teeth, “Fen’Harel? We called you a trickster? Dreaded your passing? You, an actor of _rebellion_?”

He sneered.

“Bullshit. You’re a coward. You wrap your words in half-truths and guarded smiles. Shields. Masks. Act as though nothing touches you.”

He stabbed a finger in the middle of Solas’ chest.

“This has nothing to do with Lavellan. You wish only to spare _yourself_ the pain of murdering him, not the other way around.”

Mahariel let go of Solas as abruptly as he’d grabbed hold, shoving the other elf away. Turned on his heel and retrieved his bow from the ground where it had fallen, walking a distance away.

Paused only to look over his shoulder and spit at the ground.

“As for a response - fuck you.”

He strode on from the clearing and left Solas to the cooling nighttime air and his own thoughts.

A long while Solas did naught at all but stand there, rumpled tunic and all, arms half raised to defend now frozen uselessly. But after a time he moved to once more smooth out his tunic and return to his usual posture.

Let out a mirthless chuckle and raised his face to the sky again, extinguishing the magefire.

“I once told you I respected you deeply, Lavellan,” he said to thin air, turning to leave as well.

“How could I not afford you every opportunity to survive what will come, ma vhenan?”


End file.
